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halcyone-of-the-sea · 1 year ago

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BABES IM ON THE FLOOR 😭 I watched this Price Voice Lines Video and my god 🫠 His voice is so deep im litrally insane. Could you maybe do something with his lines around the 13:35 mark, where he’s being a self-sacrificing jerk? 🤭 Maybe the Reader is with him on a mission or something and like their both super protective and trying to save eachother or something ❤️

All, Most, Some, None

PAIRING: John Price x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: Snow melts in the heat of blood.

WORDCOUNT: 2.4k

WARNINGS: Angst, major character death(s), some fluff in the beginning, protective!Price, pre-relationship pining, obliviousness, blood, bullet wounds, hurt/no comfort, etc. no happy ending

A/N: You know I have to finish out my requests with just pure heartbreak.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You look out over the dark landscape and take down a breath as the atmosphere of the camp behind you murmurs like a warm drink. Night had fallen swiftly two hours beforehand when you’d first volunteered to take watch, your smile bright and eyes eager. Snow was just beginning to slide down from the gray sky, thick clouds hanging like a navy cloth—splotch marks of yellowish stars a far-off glimmer of infinity.

When the footsteps echo out, coming to your position, you already know the weight and pace of who it belongs to; can trace the way his feet will conform to the dirt and the crunch of white powder. A grin flickers your lips easily but you don’t bother looking over your shoulder.

John huffs as he takes his place beside you on the lookout, crossing his arms over his chest. In the corner of your eye you spy on his loose yet measured face, that authoritative edge that seeps into his skin at times.

For a long moment, the two of you look out over the earth, studying the dips and drags of the Northwest Territories of Canada in early winter. While cold, the jackets the both of you wear take the chill off well enough. Along the body of your MK14 EBR, your fingers rest casually—no need to be tensed and ready. Your sharp eyes hadn’t spotted anything for eons.

“Sitrep, then, Sol?” You hum under your breath as John looks over at you with a raised brow.

“Rabbits and Caribou, Sir.” Your voice goes teasing, “I think we’re boxed in from all sides—I suggest immediate evac.”

A low chuckle and a firm shake of a beanied head, a puff of condensation as the darkness seeps over all to be seen. John glances at you with a smirk.

“Unfortunate, seeing as we just got here.” You smile and laugh deep in your throat. It was at moments like this that you thanked whatever deity was out there that Captain Price had seen your potential all those years ago.

He’d handpicked you when you were nothing but a Private—brought you up with knowledge and stern, yet gruffly companionate, assistance all the way to Lieutenant. You don’t know the exact moment when you started to get flustered around him.

Your chest is tight right now, fingers that were once cold going clammy as you twitch them. Inside your chest, your heart pounds blood into the thin drums of your ears like boot-thumps. Clearing your throat, you shift your feet and push out, “Did Laswell get in touch?”

“Ah,” John shakes his head, taking a breath as he says, “Negative. We’re on our own for this.” He turns his head fully to you and for a moment you’re enraptured by the shine in the depths of his blue irises. Teasing, “Think you can handle it, then?”

You turn away quickly, face burning.

“Doubt me?” Matching his jab you smile widely. John chuckles and jerks his shoulders, grunting as his chin tilts.

“Never.” Hiding the violent burn of your cheeks, you look at the landscape quickly, nails tapping the metal of your gun.

“Sol?” John speaks after a moment of tight silence. You blink over with an interested look, cocking your head. The Captain had shifted to fully face you, and one of his hands itches at the side of his finely-trimmed beard. Fast eyes glance over your form like a studious teacher—your lungs still inside of your ribs. John mutters, “Stick near me tomorrow, yeah? Want you on my six.”

Touched, your brows still furrow with confusion.

“Don’t…you need me to lead Unit Two?” John’s already shaking his head, gritting his teeth. It’s like something’s bothering him.

Feet taking you forward, you grab onto his bicep and stare into his tense face with slight concern. “John?” You ask, lids narrowing.

The man stills at the sensation of your touch, even separated by the layers of his gear and jacket. Eyes slip to yours and lightly soften, the edges easing in their relentless wrinkle of dark thoughts. Like the star that your codename emulated, you seemed to be a ray of illumination for the Captain, and John’s nose twitched before his eyes quickly looked away from your open face.

It wasn’t right to think the way he did about you.

“Just have a feeling, Love,” he shakes his head slightly, clearing his throat. Your hand drops from him and he stops himself from snatching it back.

You smile at him, huffing a laugh.

“Well, who else’ll be able to take my place, then, seeing as you’re so eager to have me by you?” Gazing behind you into the small camp, John grunts, keeping his eyes on you. A small smirk slips over his lips and pulls his beard back.

“Daniels has got it…copy?” Your throat hums in consideration before you nod in a firm flinch of your head.

“...Alright.”

“Good.” The Brit shifts his feet and the snow squeals. Snowflakes collect on the top of your head, sitting atop your scalp like tiny insects as the swell of your mouth goes back in a grin. John blinks at you, and before he knows it, he’s extending his hand up to his beanie with little thought beyond how lovely you look like this.

He plops the fabric down on your head and you snap a hand up to press into it in shock. The man’s large frame slinks back as he takes his leave with you looking back at him; his feet make tracks, leading away to mirror the ones that came before.

“Don’t get a cold, eh? I’ll expect you to be back in your tent within the hour, Lieutenant.” Face burning, you can’t answer.

Blue eyes peek over a wide shoulder. Something sparks in those met gazes, a pinprick of wonder and deep affection. Perhaps it was even love.

The snow falls faster, and as John disappears into the darkness the chill of the open ridge suddenly seems less violent than your pulse as it thumps to the humming of the earth. Hiding a giddy smile, you look back out and rub at your neck; hat upon your head perfectly ingrained with a scent of charcoal and pine.

—

“Leave me! I won’t make it!” The words made your stomach drop through your intestines. Shouted over the open line John’s voice barks the order like a knife with break-neck efficiency. No hesitation.

It had all gone to shit in a matter of hours. The sun was just on the horizon, spreading its hands of dawn over the camp that was awash with blood and bodies. Enemy soldiers, the ones that your squad was tasked with taking out within the next day, had killed the next sentry on duty after you and stormed your position.

To think you were minutes away from being that very sentry was mind-numbing. But now the real problem was the state of the camp.

John had been hit through the right thigh.

Taking cover behind a large pine tree, you dart out at every other interval to fire rounds into anything that dashes like a wild animal into the open. Most of the squad was dead—the rest scattered in the sparse cover that was offered or in the process of dying. Snow melted in the heat of crimson fluid.

Spying the downed figure of your Captain, you growl and sprint out before you can talk yourself out of it, taking the recoil of your MK14 EBR into your shoulder and teeth gritted. John writhes on the ground, trying to maintain control over the remaining forces as his leg is limp and useless. He growls out in pain as his head hits the ground behind him.

“Fuck!” He shouts. You feel a bullet whizz past your head as you skid down to your knees beside him.

“Sol!” He glares at you as you survey the damage quickly, ducking when the metal projectiles get gradually closer and closer. There’s shouting in the far treeline; death cries. “What the hell are you doing? Get out of here!”

“You’re stupid if you think I’m about to do that to you!” You yell, jerking your gun up to release three bullets into someone who had burst out with a raised assault rifle. Pain flares in your left bicep, but you barely notice it beyond a strained, instinctual, whimper. “I’m getting you out of here.”

Panic had gone as deep as your DNA, seeing the large pool of blood around John, his venom-laced words that stem from agony.

“Leave! Fucking hell, Lieutenant, that’s an order!”

“John,” you shout, “shut the fuck up!” The man’s eyes go wide with shock. It wasn’t often that you swore at him.

Making your hands dive under your Captain, you loop your hands behind his shoulders and latch at his armpits. With all of your might, you shift and begin dragging him backward into the trees; gritting your teeth at his pained yell and the bare of his own pearly whites.

Moving like this was stupid, you wouldn’t be able to take out your gun without dropping John—and you certainly weren’t going to do that. Not on your life.

“Christ,” the Brit groans, and you frantically watch the blood trail he leaves behind along the ground. Like a rabbit who’d gotten his leg bit off by a wolf but was still trying to run.

There was too much blood.

Agony explodes in your side, but you keep dragging backward with a new hitch in your lungs; eyes awash with tears before the air leaves you with a ragged and violent gasp. The sounds you hear from all around are horrible—the screams and the popping of rapid-fire shots. Sucking down oxygen with a vile cough, you get John behind a cropping of rocks and have to settle him down as you hack into one of your arms; chest shuddering.

There is a pressure inside of you that digs into your flesh, but the adrenaline floods your brain over the alarm bells, drowning them.

You pull back your arm to see blood. But it doesn’t matter—not now. Not with John like this.

Looking down, you stare into his eyes while you get to your knees by his side. His gaze is wide and stuck at your abdomen with panic, where you already know the damage a bullet can do.

“Love…” he begins, but his fingers curl into fists of pain instead. John breathes heavily, and when you look down to his thigh you find far more than one bullet.

There were three, all spaced out in an arch. One at his thigh, one up on his pelvis, and the other directly in his stomach. Your eyes widen with mute horror, mouth stuttering as your throat closes.

“Yeah,” blood bubbles from John’s mouth as he chuckles in quick gasps. “No good, eh?”

Tears build in great waves, but you force out, “No,” growling, you feel your own blood stain your gear and clothes. No exit wounds for either of you, you can already tell. “No, John—not like this.”

“Sweetheart,” he tries, but you grip the beanie on your head and shove it into his stomach, pressing on the wound there as he wheezes and you sob.

“No, John!” A large hand finds the back of your hair, and you shake your head wildly.

Blue eyes stare with regret and torment before darting back down to your wound. You can feel it—you already know; knew the moment the stray bullet hit you.

The both of you…

“I’m sorry,” he says, quietly so that you have to strain to hear it above the noise. “I’m sorry, Love.” With a shiver of intense throbbing, the strain growing, you dart forward with waning strength and place your lips to his.

Bloody hands grip his cheeks, slipping over his beard in fruitless desperation. Blood coats your mouths, but the moment of pure love and tenderness takes over. For a minute you can both forget the chill of metal and the blood pooling to the ground. The shaking in your muscles.

You can forget that the both of you are dying.

John keeps the back of your head to him as strength begins to slip. When you pull away with quivering limbs, his thumb weakly brushes your undereye to dispel the bitter tears. He hums with wet eyes.

“I never got to take you out, did I?” You slip down beside him, shivering and losing heat not only because of the snow. Limbs grow heavy and in the back of your mind, you know you should be afraid—terrified. Maybe you were.

The comment makes you want to scream and rage and wail.

“No,” you instead say, laughing through a sob at the cruelty of it all as you latch onto him. “No, you didn't, John. But I’m here now. I’m right here.”

Eyes slide over your face as you stay near him; waiting. A tiny smile as his bloody fingers brush your cheek.

“When we get back I’ll show you ‘round Hertfordshire,” you both know that will never happen. His forehead knocks against yours. “You’ll love it, Sweetheart. Know you will.”

“I will,” you promise, knowing you can’t. The world besides both of your eyes swirls. “Anywhere with you, John, is worth going.”

It’s obvious what you mean.

John presses his lips back to yours with one last whispered breath of his vow. “I’ve loved you since I first saw that beauty of a smile.”

The two of you whisper promises and secrets as the gunfire dies down, lips making up for all of the times you should have kissed before and now don’t have the time to. Eyes don’t leave each other as the blood keeps flowing into two large pools of crimson sin. You’re drowned in it—flooded in it.

You should have told him sooner.

“I’ll find you,” you whisper, eyes fluttering. But the body is long cold.

You let your muscles loosen as the last of the fight leaves. Content, even in this, but for the simple fact that John’s arms are around you forever in this moment of endless infinity. The sky rolls back, and your last view is of him.

—

In the snow, preserved by the elements even weeks later, they would find your bodies, curled amongst themselves as if to protect one another. They would say that it had been because you were cold, freezing, and bleeding out from your wounds that you’d huddled for comfort. But that wasn’t the truth.

The two of you had never been warmer than when you were with the other.

What they couldn’t account for were the twin smiles on frosty lips.

TAGS:

@luuvbuzz, @emerald-valkyrie, @anna-banana27, @blueoorchid, @cryingnotcrying, @writeforfandoms, @homicidal-slvt, @jade-jax, @frazie99, @elmoees, @littlemisstrouble, @alpineswinter, @phoenixhalliwell, @idocarealot, @lavalleon, @facelessmemories, @h-leigh, @20forty9, @glitter-anon-asks, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @neelehksttr, @aeneanc, @escapefromrealitysm, @i-d-1-0-t, @pparcxysm, @hawkscanendme, @caramlizedtomatos, @konigsleftkidney, @sanfransolomitatm, @maelstrom007, @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet, @pheobees, @glitterypirateduck, @uselsshuman, @fan-of-encouragement, @halfmoth-halfman, @ghostlythunderbird, @I-inkage, @pukbadger, @kopatych11, @0nceinabluem00n, @cocrorapop, @knightofsexyness, @abnormalgeil, @smallseastone, @jacegons, @330bpm-whiplash, @simon-rileys-housewife, @4-atsu, @tiredmetalenthusiast

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tightjeansjavi · 9 months ago

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The Rite of Movement | drabble

“sleazy kisses in a back alley”

A/N: everyone say thank you to Lucien Flores for inspiring me to write pornstar!joel going a little…feral ;)

~word count: 2.2k~

Summary: it’s Tommy’s birthday, and you and Joel can’t keep your hands to yourselves for more than five minutes

Pairing | pornstar!joel x pornstar!female reader

Warnings: smut, mentions of the porn industry and other pornstars, porn with no plot litrally, intimacy, semi public sex, fingering, oral f!receiving, dom!joel, depraved filth, language, mentions of drinking and smoking, teasing, flirting, edging, established relationship, Joel calls you a dirty little slut in a non-derogatory way, sleazy makeout, cum tasting, Joel is a little horny shit, Joel is in his 40’s reader is in her 30’s, reader has no physical descriptions (only description is wearing a shimmery dress but nothing about the length/fit etc) readers nickname is baby love, +18 minors dni!

series masterlist

Every pair of wandering eyes in this DTLA, heady, nightclub are glued in a trance to your boyfriend. It’s Tommy’s birthday, and despite the fact that somehow you and Joel have ended up in the same state that you both loathed for conjoining reasons, it was cathartic that you were doing this together.

The original plan was for Joel to rent out a local nightclub in Austin for Tommy’s birthday bash, but Pornhub offered to fly the three of you out to LA, along with the rest of Miller-Co for a proper birthday celebration.

That's how you found yourselves surrounded by familiar faces in the industry, and plenty anew. You caught up with old costars, reminiscing on the short lived ‘good times’ during your era at Brazzers. It was a bittersweet and unplanned reunion.

The question of the evening was centered around yours and Joel’s relationship, and you weren’t one to bask in the spotlight or the potential for scrutiny. But you handled their prying questions with grace, after all, humans are naturally curious creatures.

How do two pornstars maintain a healthy relationship?

“Just like the key to any successful relationship: communication.” You responded with grace.

There were a chorus of murmured agreements that went around the circle you found yourself in. Joel was nearby, an arm’s length away, close enough that you could brush up against one another. He was wearing a silly, flimsy party hat, adorned in gold chains draped along his neck and a bright patterned shirt with almost all the buttons undone. He looked like a whole goddamn meal, and dessert, and the greenies in the industry were absolutely eating him up.

He was politely declining opportunities to film with this group of amateur pornstars that flocked to him like a moth to flame. He had recently begun to stray from filming with partners outside of you. It was a personal decision that he made, and you of course supported him through and through. He was beginning to feel overwhelmed from the already stuffy atmosphere, the numerous voices in his ear, the pounding bass, and the beading sweat pooling along his forehead, was just enough for him to politely excuse himself for some fresh air.

You felt his warm palm encircle around your covered hip, squeezing you gently through the shimmery fabric of the dress you were wearing. “M’gonna head out for a smoke, and some fresh air, baby love.” He rasped, leaning over close enough that you could hear him.

You leaned into his touch, head tilting to the side and painted lips brushing the heart shaped patch in his beard, leaving a lip print stain of sinful red against his tanned skin. “Okay, baby.”

Warmth encased espresso brown eyes flicker to your gaze, his skin is flushed, pink hues turning to blues and purples from the flashing strobe lights. His brow raises, lips quirking upwards, sending a gush of arousal to flood the sticky heat between your thighs. You’re not wearing any panties tonight, and he knows this.

You watch as his eyes shamelessly dip downwards, drifting across every inch of your skin that he has spent countless hours kissing, biting, licking, and worshiping. Every ridge, valley, and bump. Every beauty mark, every inch of softness under his touch. He already can picture the sticky mess between your thighs where just under an hour ago, his head was buried between them, feasting on you with your ass firmly pressed against the hotel bathroom sink while you messed up his perfectly slicked back hair with ravenous, desperate tug to his roots.

He meets your gaze once more after he has fully drunk you in from top to bottom. He reaches into his back pocket, pulling out his carton of cigarettes, flipping the top open with his thumb, feeling your eyes searing into his skin as he places a single cigarette between his plush lips.

“I’ll be waitin’ for ya, baby love.” He rasps, tilting his chin in a subtle nod. His hand that was still holding onto your hip, releases, and discreetly dipping under the fabric of your dress, ring clad knuckles digging into the soft flesh of your ass in a possessive manner that you only got a taste of on a rare occasion like tonight. “You know where to find me.” He added, departing from your close proximity in a suave manner that left you feeling breathless.

A warm tingle rolled down your spine like the condensation dripping down the edge of your glass. Your heart pounded to the heavy thump of the bass, and blood rushed in your ears as you watched him make his way through the crowd of sweaty bodies and exit through one of the nearest side doors.

You finish what is left of your mostly watered down drink, throwing the liquid down your throat and tossing the plastic cup in the nearest trash can. Your feet carry you towards the same exit door he left through minutes earlier. You waited simply to build up the growing tension and to flood your system with a wave of palpable suspense, and that insatiable itch that only he could fulfill.

And just like clockwork, you push open the heavy door, a gust of refreshing evening air blows over you, drowning out the heavy bass and overbearing voices as you step outside into the dimly lit back alley. The door swings shut, and the sole of your heels lightly scrape against the pebbled concrete.

You feel that electric buzz, the invisible string pulling you right into Joel’s vicinity.

And there he was, broad back leaned against the brick wall, hand cupped around the side of his face to block out any obstructing wind as he lit the end of the cigarette that was limply dangling between his lips.

He tilted his head back against the wall, inhaling the toxic smoke into his lungs, the lit end of the cigarette burning bright orange. He exhaled the smoke upwards in a gray cloud that dissipated into the night air.

His eyes locked onto you from a short distance away, and all it took for your feet to move again was the subtle flex of his pointer and middle finger curling at his side in a ‘come hither’ motion.

You find yourself wedged between his broad, jean clad thighs, your hands slowly sliding up the expanse of his broad, tanned chest, as his freehand moves to grasp your hip, pulling you flush against him. Your fingers toy with the gold chains adorned on his neck, twirling the metal in a flirtatious manner, “you have no right looking this good tonight, Joel. And upstaging your brother nonetheless?” You tut playfully.

The fabric of your shimmery dress bunches under his strong hands, gripping onto you like a vice. He chuckles, dipping his head down so he can rest his forehead against yours, “you don’t seem to have a problem with it, baby love. Took you all of five minutes to come and find me…” he trailed off, cigarette dipping down between his plush lips like fresh dew dripping down the delicate petal of a flower. “You want it that bad, huh?” He challenges you.

Smoke curls around your head like an ashy coil of a snake, wrapping and twisting, irritating your eyes, and fogging your mind. “Always want it bad, baby. Dripping like a fucking faucet between my thighs right now…” you blindly reach for his hand around your hip and guide it between your thighs.

“Switch with me.” He requests, fingers just barely dancing across your bare mound, thumb almost catching on your clit.

When you don’t immediately react to his request, he helps you, maneuvering your body from between his thighs, and pressing your back firmly against the brick wall. The broad expanse of his shoulders and chest crowd around you like a cloak as he leans in close, “Did you wear no panties for me, baby love? Couldn’t help yourself…hmm? Wanted to make sure I had easy access to you, and your needy little pussy?” He hums, taking one last drag from the cigarette before he flicks it off to the side. “Bet that everytime you close those pretty eyes tonight, all you could see was my head between your thighs, ain’t that right?”

One warm, calloused palm cups your cheek, thumb stroking gently across your cheekbone. He noses at your pulse point, soft curls tickling your cheek as he inhales a whiff of your perfume, groaning softly, lashes fluttering as he presses himself further against you.

“Always so fuckin’ wet for me, baby love. S��like your sweet pussy has a mind of her own…” he drawls, voice syrupy and low, sending a gush of wetness between your thighs. “She’s always thinkin’ of my cock stretchin’ her open, my fingers, my tongue, mmm…” he licks a hot stripe against your pulse point, kissing and nipping at the skin there. His freehand drops between your thighs, nudging them open as he slips his hand under your dress so he can feel you.

“Fuuck.” You mewl wantonly, melting into his touch like putty, “please, Joel. More—” you stumble over your words as his fingers spread you open, teasing and deliberate mininstrations that just aren’t enough.

“Please what, baby love? What do you want, hmm? Want me to keep talkin’ to you like this? You like that, don’t you? Think your pussy does…she’s dripping all over my fingers, naughty girl.” He tuts and tilts your chin upwards so your eyes meet his. He presses his forehead against yours, hot breath fanning your face, remnants of tobacco lingering on his tongue.

His eyes are like two black shining 8-balls, darker than usual, but all the more alluring. Your lips part, soft breaths escaping when he presses the pad of his thumb directly against your clit, “I want you to—shove your tongue down my throat, Joel. I want to taste your cigarette from the source. I want you to finger me in this alley, scissor me apart, and most of all…I want you to call me your dirty little slut.”

“Yeah?” He rasped, egging you on further, leaning in just enough that you could catch his lower lip between your teeth. “That’s all y’want, baby love? For me to call you my dirty little slut while you gush around my fingers? Mmm…say it again.” He nearly growls, rolling your clit between his fingers, pinching it gently causing you to whimper and arch your back against the wall.

“Please, Joel.” A whine crawls up your throat when his lips brush against yours, teasing you, edging you further as your walls clench and pulse around nothing but the salty air from the coastline breeze. “Call me your dirty little slut, baby. Do it.”

He surges forward, lips pressing against yours in a bruising kiss that is all teeth, tongue and no reserve: a sleazy makeout in a back alley, his skilled fingers prodding and pressing you open, slipping into your wet heat knuckle deep. The contrast of his thick digits clad in cool metal working you into a mess of moans and he has to physically steady you against the wall when your knees begin to buckle.

“That’s it, baby love.” He preens, mumbling against your locked lips, fingers scissoring you, shallowly thrusting into your gushing hole. Your slick drips and trickles down the side of his hand, glistening under the faint glow from the single streetlight. “Look at you, baby love. All pretty and gushing around my fingers like the good little dirty slut that my girl is. Your pussy sounds so gorgeous right now. You hear the sounds she’s makin?’”

You grip his forearm for support, nails digging into his flesh while your freehand is tangled through the back of his curls, keeping him right where you want him. You moan into the kiss, rolling your hips into his hand, wanting more—whatever he’ll give you. “F—fuck. Oh my god.” You cry, eyes rolling back into your skull, thighs trembling, quivering.

“Yeah, that’s it baby love. I got you right where I want you. Keep squeezin’ my fingers, jus’ like that, good girl.” He praises you, curling his fingers rapidly against the soft spongy spot inside of you that sends your hips bucking into his hand in tandem. “That’s it, fuck yourself on my fingers, my pretty, dirty, little baby love.”

You squeeze and pulse around his fingers, riding out your high as you cry out his name over and over again. There’s a soft squelching sound heard between your thighs when he slips his fingers out, coated in your creamy honey, glistening along his thick fingers. He audibly groans at the sight of you staining his skin, and you watch as he ravenously sucks his fingers into his mouth, winding his tongue around them so he can taste all of you.

“So fuckin’ sweet, baby love. All for me, right? That creamy little pussy gushes her sweet nectar all for Joel.” He rasps, pressing his fingers down along your lower lip, still wet with his saliva and your cum, “taste yourself, baby. Taste how fuckin’ sweet you are.”

You stare up at him, pupils blown, entranced with an endearing dumb look on your face nodding as you suck his fingers into your mouth, moaning at the taste. And in the midst of it all, somehow that silly party hat on his head didn’t fall off once.

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skydreamplayzz · 2 years ago

Note

He’s about 80% sure the orb is supposed to change color, not explode - He’s pretty sure only red and yellow do-

(Also, you got it right, the orb was the gift! Don’t worry-)

#undertale oc #undertale #sans oc #undertale au #His AU is litrally only blue soo..

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skelpiescool · 3 months ago

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Hi, so intro thing,

I'm skelpie!

I am a minor, I use they/he/any-that-arent-female pronouns, Im asexual, transmasc, lesbian, cupioromantic (aro spec) and yea.

IF I DISSAPEAR OFF THE EARTH AT 9PM/ANY OTHER TIME ITS FUCK ASS PARENTAL CONTROLS!!!

if anybody wants to vent my dms are open <3

im somewhere between 13-16 so yea

ALTS!!

@skelpiesspam - spam account

@skelpiesrantsaboutthings - basically shit that i dont want on my main (ie: problematic fandoms, vents, thats about it,)

@skelpiesmusic - a gimmick thing where i post a song from my liked songs on shuffle once a day

i like mouthwashing, undertale/deltarune, bad parenting, and genloss rn

i listen to alot of will wood, mitski, penelope scott, chonny jash, and tally hall

also im litrally massachusetts

i dont really have any dni's, but like pedos, zoophiles, racists, terfs and radfems, ans homophobe's just leave. adults can be here just dont be fucking creepy. kids can be here. idc man enjoy the blog

turns out my school is IN class of 09, not doxxing myself, but it is in it.

if im not active its either school, dead phone, or fuck ass parental controls ive had since like 4th grade stopping me from using my phone after 9 (usually bipasses) (ignore that rant im not removing it)

im on the mobile website 90% of the time so yea be warned

im otherkin (black fox, crow, coyote, enderman, the void [just kinda in general] jumping spider, maned wolf, and something with wings that feel like aloe vera juice and are light blue idk)

also im married to @blooming-skeleton

anyway basic updates mostly in lyrical format will be under here:

THE KIND OF IRONY YOUD READ IN BI-BLE STO-RYS

if your not on your worst behavior, GET THE FUCK OUT!

fw!!

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wordy-little-witch · 7 months ago

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Hiiiii and also KDKSJXJSJXJSKZKX- baby post was something i never knew i needed dosjdjsx pls i need more headcanons abt bby Bronwyn D. Crown

Im laughing cuz buggy litrally just cloned himself cuz i was wondering whose paternal genes will the bby take after but then its a mini fem buggy lmao

Also the cross guilds reaction to the baby is so cute esp daz aaaaa ofcours the man who used to dream being a superhero is soft inside

And both croc n mihawk fainting dksjdisod

Plsss i need to know wat theyre and crossguild is like when taking care of the baby djsjjsdjsj pls let her be super smart like her dads aaaa

The domesticity is ❤️

So honestly while Winni le DOES definitely take after Buggy the most, she's not quite a CLONE per se. Her hair is a dark, almost black, blue, and her nose is a little less RED red and more pink-red. Everything else though? Carbon copy from birth.

As far as genes go, they never really push for the testing bc it's redundant, though Croc is almost positive it's Mihawk - while he did fully head to toe transition via Iva, the likelihood of it being him is really really infintisimally slim. At the end of the day, it doesn't matter, really. Winnie is their baby and they all love her to pieces.

Daz absolutely is her biggest fan, barring her parents and in a literal sense. He's wrapped around her little finger and as she grows, she KNOWS it. He'll play with her, and if anyone laughs or makes a remark, he can and will stare into their soul while unflinchingly stating he is simply doing his duties to the highest degree - what are they doing with this doubtless free time? He has some recommendations-

Tbf though the number of people who would laugh about it leave fairly quickly, leaving a veritable LEGION of men, women and others who are ready to ride or die for this kid.

You know those tiktok videos of animals meeting the new baby for the first time? That with Ritchie. That would be so cute. So silly. Just. Ritchie being a big baby and just all worship eyes at this new baby because '!!!!! Small human!!!!! Like cap!!!!!! Weird smell!!!!!!! Must lick!!!!!!!'.

He keeps sneaking into her nursery to lay beside the crib or just snuffle her in her sleep. They wind up setting traps. He keeps evading them. Nobody can figure out how. Mihawk proposes that he's simply so No Thoughts Head Empty that he evades the traps on pure luck and ditzy fortune.

Alvida is definitely searching high and low for "my awesome aunt got me this-" type of things, then getting matching outfits, baby sunglasses, etc, just READY for dress up and lil self care. She's also the type to carry on full conversations with Winnie as a baby without baby talk. Just meeting babbles with "girl, he said WHAT? No, hold up, tell auntie everything-" or "baby girl, you will not believe what tea I got today-"

Cabaji dreams of teaching her to ride her first unicycle. Will settle for rollerblades. Very protective, but also liable to lose the baby somehow in a market and then explode.

Mohji shares his love for animals with her and is so smug when Winnie grows up and continues on with a constant love and adoration for animals.

Galdino gets her into art, and she continues on with that, even on well into her adult years.

As for intelligence, she definitely winds up as smart as her parents - she goes on to study zoology and animal psychology, becoming a veterinarian and then later revamping the entirety of the veterinary science field in the Grandline, then later in some of the other Seas.

She also works with her parents' business as well tbf, though she focuses more on the vigilante side of it - popping amoral smugglers, sinking slavers, the works. She also may or may not have planted a few bombs in some marine bases when she went to do the animal checks for the base, depending on their history, regard, and the state of their animals. She's got her own moral compass, one which she follows like her own northern star.

All in all, there's a lot of domestic silliness that Winnie brings about.

#buggy the clown #Winnie D. Clown (oc)#one piece oc #teehee #i maaaay have gotten too into it whoopsies~#cross guild polycule

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